Five Things
by Artful Chicken
Summary: One day, up in the rafters of the abandoned lab, a very bored Natasha decides to play a little game with Clint. But little does she know, that through this game, the two of them will stitch together the shards of memories, and uncover a story that only the two of them can write. A multichapter fic.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks for all the reviews for _Scarlet! _I'm really grateful for all your support!

This is my first chapter fic, so please enjoy :D I don't own the Avengers, i just am a huge fan XD

* * *

**Chapter 1**

They sat in the rafters of the abandoned lab, legs dangling precariously over the edge. They were talking, chatting, anything that made them feel even vaguely normal when-

"Hey, Clint..." Natasha interrupted his story of an agent with a wife half his age.

"What?"

"Let's play a game," she said with a fiendish grin. Clint smiled and rolled his eyes. The two of them had _VERY_ different ideas of fun. "So this is how it goes. We've known each other for a helluva long time, so now we're gonna write down five things we know about each other, okay?"

Clint breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they weren't so different after all...

"Okay," he said. He got up and extricated a piece of paper and two pencils from a pile of arrows, bows and_ heaven_-knows-what-else. He ripped the paper in half, with laser-sharp precision and gave one half and a pencil to Natasha.

"No peeking," she grinned, punching him softly on his shoulder when he started to sit down beside her. Clint muttered something and proceeded to sit back-to-back with her.

"1...2...3...go!" she announced.


	2. Chapter 2Clint

**Chapter 2-Clint**

Clint drummed the pencil on his paper irritatedly. _Okay, I take it back_, he thought. The two of them grasped the concept of fun in _very_ different ways.

"Come on..." he raked his hands through his chestnut hair irritatedly. Then, after a while, he wrote '_You got your hair from your mom_'...

* * *

_[4 Years ago, Croatia]_

"Crap! I dropped it!" Natasha yelled over the thundering explosions, patting her chest like something that was supposed to be there, wasn't.

"Tasha, we can't go back! It's gonna blow up in twenty seconds! We gotta get outta here!" Clint grabbed her arm as she stared at the rubble with wide, nervous eyes.

"No...I _have_ to find it..." she mumbled as she shook his hand away and scrambled away to the rubble. He saw her start turning rocks and chunks of concrete over, and she finally held a small object up in the dusty sunlight when...

"_NATASHA_!" Clint screamed as a cloud of orange and yellow billowed towards her with a deafening boom. Her small, delicate body sailed through the air, her red curls whipping around her head like they were part of the inferno too. Time stood still as Clint bolted to the right and...

"_Thump_!" her body hit his with such a force that both of them collapsed on the dusty ground.

"Tasha...nononono...Tasha talk to me!" he shook her by the shoulders desperately. Finally she groaned and opened her eyes, to his great relief.

"I got it," she smiled weakly, uncurling her tightly clenched fist to reveal a small silver locket dangling from a charred, once-silver chain. "Open it," she said.

Clint fumbled to get the locket open. His fingers were hard and tired, and the stiff leather hand-guards weren't helping _one_ _bit_. Finally, _FINALLY_, the damn thing popped open.

Inside was a photograph. It was tiny, black-and-white and faded, but with his sharp eyes he could clearly make out a couple and a child. The father's hair was white in the picture, so he assumed it was blond. The mother and daughter's hair, on the other hand, turned out the same shade of black-grey, both curly and short. It was evident that the daughter inherited her hair from the mother...

He recognised the daughter. Her cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, rose-petal lips...It was Natasha.

That was why she was so desperate for the locket. It was the only memory she had of her long-dead family.

He looked to Natasha, then back at the smiling little girl in the picture, and wondered what had happened between then and now...

* * *

_[Present day]_

Clint smiled. One down, four to go...


	3. Chapter 3Natasha

**Chapter 3-Natasha **

****Natasha allowed herself an illegal, if cursory, glance at Clint's paper. He had his first thing already scribbled down in what Coulson had dubbed as Clint's "Hawk-scrawl" handwriting.

She thought a while, and soon the words '_You like your coffee with lots of milk_' appeared across the top of the paper...

* * *

_[6 Months ago, Paris]_

The red-haired woman sat alone at her table, sipping an espresso and barely picking on her warm croissant, occasionally making polite conversation in French with the passing waiters.

She pressed a finger to her left diamond earring.

"Whatcha got there, Hawk ?" she smiled playfully as she flicked her eyes to a table on the opposite end of the open-air cafe, where a young man in a leather jacket and Aviator shades was taking a swig of whatever was in the mug in his hand. He pressed the left corner of his shades.

"Coffee with all the milk in the world," came his smug reply through her earpiece.

"Typical," she allowed herself a small smile. Natasha and Clint were undercover at a Parisian cafe, waiting for their target to walk into the trap. She was starting to _enjoy_ it, really, the peace, the normalcy of it all...and of course the espresso. The wind rustled through her hair and for once she felt so comfortable and-

"He's here," Clint's voice was drained of its former breezy quality. She watched as a man in a tuxedo walked in, and slowly she abandoned the espresso and fell in step behind him...

* * *

_[present day] _

Natasha lifted the tip of the pencil from the paper with an air of finality._ Four more..._


	4. Chapter 4 Clint

**Chapter 4-Clint**

He thought for a while, and the next one came easily. It had been ingrained in his mind for a long time.

_Indian food. Tasha loves Indian food,_ he thought as he wrote it down.

* * *

_ [1 year 3 months ago, in a helicopter over the Pacific]_

"Natasha...you okay?" Clint asked anxiously. Natasha lay on a stretcher, her ripped-up combat suit half obscured by blood and bandages that were more red than white.

Natasha turned her head painfully to look at him. "Yeah," she smiled weakly, "Man that was one _hell_ of an explosion you cooked up."

Clint smiled back at her. He held her hand tightly. He still couldn't forgive himself for launching the _stupid_ exploding arrow at the building when he _KNEW_ she was still inside the _stupid_ building.

"I...I'm sorry. About blowing up the building..." he started. It just didn't seem _right_. He blew up the building at the wrong time and here he was, totally unharmed while Natasha lay fighting for every breath...

"Shhhh...it's okay. You didn't know any better. Stop bugging yourself, _seriously_," Natasha stared at him, her green eyes pinning his grey ones straight to the wall.

"Okay," he nodded. Forgiving himself was something he did rarely, but for her sake he let it go, or at least looked like he did.

"Hey Clint...when we get back...there's this really good Indian place I wanna show you...I would know, I tried all five Indian restaurants in the block..."Natasha closed her eyes. The chopper jerked and the stretcher slid away from Clint. He bent down to readjust it.

"Yeah, we should. When we get back," he smoothed her hair back, "Now stop laughing or you'll reopen the wound!"

* * *

_[present day] _

He looked up and stared at the blank wall on the other side of the room. Three more.


	5. Chapter 5 Natasha

**Chapter 5-Natasha**

Her mind flashed back to their mission in Cairo. She remembered it well, and she regularly made sure Clint did too.

She couldn't resist a small chuckle as she wrote, '_You're secretly afraid of lizards_'...

* * *

_[ 2 months earlier, Cairo]_

They ran and ducked behind a wall. The lighting was dim, but it was enough for them to clearly see the stacks of rubble and the hear the clatter of bullets on concrete.

"Phew, that was a ruckus," Natasha breathed a sigh of relief as they got themselves out of the spray of bullets, even for a moment.

Clint crouched in front, his back facing her. His neck was craned forward as he observed something unknown outside.

Suddenly he shrank back, almost knocking her over.

"Crap, Clint!" she cursed as she stuck a hand out to steady herself. "What on earth was that for?!"

The answer came quickly, in the form of a tapering dark shape skittering across the wall. A wicked grin passed over her face as she silently closed her fingertips around the creature's waist.

"Hey Clint!"

"Wha-AAAHHH GEDDIDOFFME!" Clint broke out in spasms, frantically trying to brush the lizard off his shoulder. Suddenly he stopped and sat bolt-upright, shivering like a rabbit. He was silent for a while.

"Uh no sir...yes sir...okay sir...of course not...nononono course not sir..." he put his finger to his earpiece, his pupils dilating at random moments. _This was too hilarious_, Natasha thought. Coulson was going to have a _lot_ to say about this when they got back.

Coulson presumably hung up, and when he did Clint turned around and glared at her.

"Try that one more time, Natasha Romanov, and I will _end_ you. "

"Whatever you say, Barton," Natasha smirked and reloaded her gun. "Now let's get back out there. "

* * *

_[present day]_

She smiled to herself. That day wasn't easily forgotten, especially by Clint._ Now on to the third thing..._


	6. Chapter 6 Clint

**Chapter 6-Clint**

Third thing. He fought the urge to look at Natasha's paper, but when he did Natasha snapped, "I said-"

"Okay okay..." he trailed off. He finally managed to write, '_You secretly have a great voice_. '

* * *

[2 years ago, Berlin]

Clint lay on the ground. Unconscious. Not moving. Lip bleeding. Gunshot in his shoulder. Natasha was just about panicking by now, and that was pretty much the biggest emotional response she was capable of.

Clint lay there for a while, slowly drifting in and out of the deep black sea of oblivion. As his senses whirred to life, he could hear Natasha's voice.

"Clint...I'm sorry...please wake up...come back..."she pleaded. She sniffled, and it became clear that she was...crying.

He wanted to sit up, talk to her, tell her he's okay, that it's not her fault...but he couldn't. His throat was dry and scratchy, and his limbs lay there, stone-dead. He just lay there, in shallow awareness of the surroundings.

Then something strange began to happen.

Natasha began to sing. First it was a small, fragmented tune punctuated by snivelling, then it grew and it grew...till Natasha's voice swelled into a honey-smooth sound, like molten gold. It was strong and the most _beautiful_ thing he'd ever heard. He couldn't really hear the words, but he was content just to hear it. To hear _HER_.

Suddenly, he began to fight. Hard. He tried to regain the feeling in the tips of his fingers and toes, ignoring the searing, ripping pain in his shoulder.

"I...I love you Clint," she said softly, cradling his head.

"I love you too, Natasha," he raised his hand and interlaced it in hers...

* * *

[present day]

He could still hear her voice. Her voice, softly singing him out of the pain and the hurt, making him want to fight harder, to kill the monsters of his past.

It did more than wake him up.


	7. Chapter 7 Natasha

**Chapter 7-Natasha**

She readjusted her legs in front of her as she felt the blood flow slow down.

She twirled her pencil once, twice. Finally she wrote, '_Sunrise is your favourite time of the day._ '

* * *

[3 months back, Mumbai]

They stumbled out of the bullet-studded warehouse, tired and injured. They'd gone in the previous night, and the whole mission lasted the through night and stretched into the early hours of the next day.

"Natasha..." Clint said hoarsely.

"What?" she snapped back, her energy-and patience-running dangerously low.

"The sky..." he stopped walking. His arm was still draped around Natasha's shoulder, and so she stopped too. He pointed up at the sky over the waters. Natasha looked up, and for a moment she was transfixed.

The white-headed sun was bobbing above the glassy-smooth waters. The sky was streaked with crimson and orange, like it was on fire, and the clouds were dipped in autumn hues. Gold rippled through the waters and painted the tips of the great, hulking buildings.

"It's...beautiful," she said softly, the corners of her lips curling into a small smile.

Then, without warning, Clint pulled her in, wrapped her in his arms and for a moment, their lips locked and the air around them was alive and electric. In a heartbeat Natasha felt all her weariness, all her pain melt away in a pool at her feet. She ran her hand along his cheek, and he held the back of her neck.

Then they slowly pulled away, and she let out a breathy laugh, the first of its kind in a long time.

"Let's go," she smiled, "I'll call the chopper. "

"Sure," he said, and turned back to looking at the morning sun.

* * *

[present day]

When she thought about that day, she could still feel the hot, sparkling air surrounding them, and taste the blood and gunpowder in their kiss. She snapped out of her trance and got back to thinking.


	8. Chapter 8 Clint

**Chapter 8-Clint**

The pencil dipped onto the paper once more.

He lost his train of thought for a while, but quickly regained it and wrote, '_You have a knack of finding me_'.

* * *

[3 years ago, Florida]

He gave the ropes a halfhearted tug, and pain shot through his already bloodied wrists.

"Buh-bye, you little prick," the first thug sneered as he opened the door to the room.

"Go ta' hell!" Clint snapped at them.

"Then I guess that makes two of us," the second shot back. The two of them howled with laughter, then shut the door. His heart sank when he heard a lock click.

He shifted his arms again. They were tied behind a cracking concrete pillar. He tried to feel for the loops in the knot, something he could pick open, anything that offered even the smallest glimmer of hope.

He cursed himself for staring at Tasha instead of paying attention when she was trying to teach him how to untie knots.

Natasha.

Natasha was in Brooklyn. This time, he was on his own.

Just him and-oh yes, the_ stupid_ time bomb wired to a wall socket beside him.

The reality of the situation made his gut twist. There was no one to help him now. Not even the stupid knife he usually kept down his boots.

He flashed a glance at the time bomb.

_One minute and thirty seconds. _

_Twenty nine. _

_Twenty ei-_

_Shut up_, Clint told himself. A hot prickle ran down his back. At present, he would have been trying to loosen the rope, if not for the_ million_ times before this that resulted in two very bloody, torn-up wrists.

And even if, by some stupid miracle, she was able to arrive in Florida, there was no way she was gonna find him in time. From what he remembered, all the rooms looked the same, and that was saying something.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

_A miracle_. What he needed was a-

A clatter of gunfire shuddered through building. Male screams erupted through the locked door. Clint jerked himself to face the door, his whole being on high-alert. He crossed both fingers behind the pillar. Please please_ please_ let it be that miracle...

The sharp crack of bullets on metal shattered the tense silence. Then the door was fling out of its hinges, landing inches away from Clint's feet...

Natasha lowered the gun, and her face lit up for a moment. But her eyes found the time bomb before they found Clint's wide, confused eyes, and a grim expression passed over her face.

"Natasha?! How on_ earth_ did you-"

"No time to talk, " she held up a hand as she flung herself in front of the time bomb.

One minute and thirty eight seconds.

"Don't block my light," she muttered as he tried to shimmy himself over to where she was working. She flicked a knife from her boot, clamped it in her teeth and proceeded to dismember the bomb.

"Class B-type, so the red one goes here...yellow here...OW! White goes over and...shoot!...ughhh..." she muttered to herself, growing increasingly frustrated.

"Uh...you might wanna..."

"I know..." she irritatedly began reshuffling the wires again. Nothing worked. The countdown didn't stop.

Finally she leaned back from the bomb.

"I really don't wanna say this, but the stupid thing's wired in a completely different way. Now we've got exactly thirty seconds to clear outta this hellhole," she said urgently while she slit the ropes open with the knife, "Let's go. Can you walk?"

"Yeah," he shakily got to his feet. Then she grabbed his hand, and together they raced through the maze of staircases and doors.

Just as they burst through the main entrance, a violent blast tore through the air behind them. They were flung forward in a cloud of ash and rubble.

Long after the blast rocked the concrete below them, they sat, panting and recovering from the shock.

"How on earth did you...how did you find me?" he asked, out of breath.

Natasha said nothing, smiled, and replied, "A magician never reveals her secrets. "

* * *

[ present day]

Clint smiled as he realised that he wasn't ever going to know how she found him. It was better not to know.


	9. Chapter 9 Natasha

**Chapter 9-Natasha**

Natasha lost herself in a daze, and as a vivid train of events replayed in her head she wrote down, '_You care for me even if I don't deserve it_'.

* * *

[1Year ago, SHIELD Base]

Natasha ran down a deserted corridor, not caring about how loud her footsteps were. When she was finally satisfied that she was as _far_ away from Clint-_freaking_-Barton as possible, she let herself sink to the floor against the wall.

She had just about enough of that_ jerk_ Barton.

Okay, maybe he _did_ save her the previous day in Duxford, but _all_ he did after that was insist that_ "No Natasha, you can't handle it yourself, Natasha, you need me Natasha"_, and everything along those lines. She was absolutely _certain_ it was the exact opposite.

Which was why the two assassins ended up in a screaming match in the middle of the training room.

She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She ignored it. If it was urgent, which it most probably was not, whoever it was would call again. And if it was Barton, well, she absolutely did_ NOT_ want to pick it up.

And after a while, it stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief, when-

The damn thing started vibrating again. She ignored it again, and after that the person didn't call for a long time.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she was being an ingrate, but sometimes the man_ really_ crossed the line...

She stared at the blank wall for a long time. Then finally she decided to see who the caller was.

Two missed calls from Clint. And one voicemail.

Curious, she tapped on the voicemail button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, uh, Tasha. It's me, Clint," his voice said over the phone. She was half-tempted to hang up, but she listened on anyway. "You might not wanna talk to me now, but I wanna talk to you. You're probably_ really_ angry at me now, and rightfully so. I'm sorry I was such a_ jerk_ just now. I want you to know the reason why I shot that guy was _not_ that I thought you couldn't. I did it because...I...I was just so _scared_ that I would lose you. You're a _warrior_, and know that_ nobody_ here has the slightest_ hint_ of a shadow of doubt in you. So...uh...if you're not already plotting to assassinate me in my sleep, please come back. We can...have dinner together later, I guess. So...yeah. Bye Tasha. I'm sorry. "

Then the voicemail ended.

Long after Clint hung up, she remained, with the phone still clasped in her hand.

She had problems understanding _why_, when she was the one at fault, Clint was the one apologising. She thought for a long time...

Then, she called him.

"Hey Clint, this is Natasha. Say, do you have any plans for dinner tonight?"

* * *

[present day]

She felt a twang of guilt as she recalled it. She didn't remember what they did for dinner, or what he said when she came back to the training room. All she remembered was that voicemail.


	10. Chapter 10 Clint

**Chapter 10-Clint**

He heaved a sigh of relief. Last item, then I can see what on earth she wrote about me, he smiled. He knew exactly what he wanted to write. It was something he'd been wanting to tell her, for ages, something that changed inside him.

'_You're the only one who can make me want to be better than what I am._'

* * *

[8 years back, Budapest]

He gripped the bow, tense and ready to let the arrow fly at the slightest movement. The_ Black Widow_, they called her. They had no idea how old she was, but they estimated she was about his age.

He was a trained killer. No mercy, no forgiveness. No sentiment. All he did, and all he was destined to do, was to plant arrow after arrow in his targets' skulls. He questioned the morality of his occupation occasionally, but he never let it affect anything._ Mercy is bad for the vision_, he often told himself.

He rounded a corner in the darken shophouse, occasionally stealing glances at the sparkling Danube River through open windows.

Then he saw her.

She was standing at a window. He didn't see her face, but it didn't take a genius to know that the Black Widow was a thing of deadly beauty.

But he knew beauty was deceptive. Under the flowing, scarlet curls and the porcelain white skin hid a hardened, tenacious assassin that'd been in SHIELD's bad books for one year too_ long_.

He poised the arrow tip just behind her head.

"Hands up, Black Widow," he ordered. She whipped around, and what he saw made a prickling feeling prickle up his ears. Her face, it was something different entirely. She looked like the work of the most skilled stonemason, perfectly chiselled and delicate.

Their eyes met.

Her eyes, they were green. Green like the sea, ever-changing. Hiding all the hurt, all the pain, under its violent waves. All the battle scars, buried deep in its depths.

In a moment, he knew he couldn't.

He couldn't. In her eyes, he saw himself. He was no better than she was. Both were young, both killed people in order to bury the unspeakable pain of their past.

"Just do it," her voice came in clear as water.

He couldn't kill her. He wasn't going to murder another injured soul just because his was equally injured. In a moment, something burrowed it's way right deep down in his stony heart.

His hand shook, and the arrow flew-

It pinned itself to the wall, half a metre away from her head.

She stared at him with an expression of disbelief.

"Tell you what; why don't you come work for us instead?" he found himself saying.

* * *

[Present day]

Budapest. The first time he realised that things didn't have to be that way, that the hurt he'd experienced didn't have to be transferred to others.

He folded the completed list in half, and leaned his head back on Natasha's.


	11. Chapter 11 Natasha

**Chapter 11-Natasha**

Natasha smiled as the number 5 written on the left of her paper signified the ending of her little game.

She didn't even have to think before she wrote_, 'You're the only good thing in my life. '_

* * *

[8 years earlier, Budapest]

Natasha stood at the window of the shophouse, on the bank of the Danube River.

In a few hours, she was to set off for the Budapest Opera Ball. Thirteen diplomats were there. All thirteen were enemies of Russia. All thirteen were her targets.

She was supposed to be prepping herself, to be running her undercover alias through her head, but she wasn't. She stood at the window, looking outside.

Outside, throngs of people moved to and fro, in and out of her range of vision. Innocent people.

Not that it mattered to her.

She was a cold-blooded killer. Not in the least innocent. That was long time ago. She didn't even remember the last time she smiled or laughed. Not that there was anything to smile at or laugh world just wasn't her friend. If it was, why would it take her parents from her, and leave her with nothing but a broken heart?

She felt a tug at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked a few times and it went away.

"Hands up, Black Widow. "

Her heart lurched. This was it.

She whipped around and found herself staring into a knife...no not a knife...

An _arrow._

Someone was pointing an _arrow_ at her. She wondered which_ idiot_ would kill with a medieval weapon, but medieval or not it was going to skewer her.

Then her gaze flicked away from the arrowhead, and straight into a pair of slate-grey eyes. Cold, hardened grey. The eyes of yet another fellow killer. Another person trained to lie, hurt and murder.

But deep under the solid greyness, she could barely make out something...different. Something human, something good, even. Something the young, grey-eyed assassin was obviously trying to hide.

He kept the bowstring tense, but it soon became clear that he was at war. At war in his mind, at war with himself. Natasha couldn't take it. She was trained to fight, and eventually to die, so why not make it quick?

"Just do it," she growled, her voice sharp and harsh like icicles.

Then, it was as if time slowed down. Her stomach clenched. The man's fingers quivered and unfurled. The The arrow tore through her line of vision.

Then it embedded itself on the wall.

This assassin, this man destined to live a blood-stained lie...he spared her. He let the arrow fly away and he did the first good thing she'd experienced. The first good thing anyone had ever done for her.

His eyes met the ground.

Then he said wearily, "Tell you what; why don't you come work for us instead?"

* * *

[present day]

Budapest. Where she realised, for the first time in her life, that there were good people on this earth, that not everyone wanted to use her like her handlers did.


	12. Chapter 12 Epilogue

**Chapter 12**

"Time's up", Natasha declared. The two of them turned around. "So what did you say about me?"

"I said...You got your red hair from your mom, you like Indian food, you secretly have a great voice, you have a knack for finding me and...you're the only one who can make me want to be better than what I am," he read sheepishly.

Her eyes flicked to the ground, then she said, " You like your coffee with lots of milk..." she shot him an evil smile, "you're secretly afraid of lizards, sunrise is your favourite time of the day...you care for me even if i don't deserve it and...you're the only good thing in my life," she finished softly.

And as they read through the lists, shards of memories were slowly stitched together. Croatia, Paris, Cairo, Berlin, Mumbai, Florida...back home at Base, a helicopter over the Pacific...and Budapest.

The lists told a story, their story, the story of how two cold-blooded killers found love in the most unusual of places, the story of how good people did exist, the story that has yet to be completed. The story Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton wrote together.

It was_ their_ story.

* * *

That's the end! Thank you EVERYONE for all your support and for sticking around! I hope you guys enjoyed this :) so now, I'm gonna reply to all my reviews, in case y'all think I'm aone an person who doesn't reply reviews :D

To Sophia Jane Maire and Hedwig Girl—thanks :) I'm glad you guys looked forward to the subsequent chapters!

PrincessMnMz—haha that was the intenion :J but all the same, thanks for showing me that people actually read my stuff :) And thanks for being so supportive! You have NO idea how much I appreciate that.

Sheikagal—gosh thanks :DDDD I'm really happy the effect got through (ie: YAY IT WAS FUNNY)

Wren Wolfie—ohhhh yeah now I see. Goodness thanks! I'll try to improve that in future.

Discordchick -LOL they definitely have their own way of things :D I love them for that reason!

Precious93 - thank you so much! This is actualily my first experience writing a kiss scene, so I'm glad it worked out!

Jedi Kay-Kenobi- aww thanks :)

Anonymous guest -OMG HOW COULD I NOT REALISE THAT?! Im so sorry!

Namaster- YAYYY thanks! Haha "different from the rest"? I'm honoured! Sorry the chapters are so short though :P

Marissani- thank you XD glad you enjoy it!

And to those mentioned who made multiple reviews, I'm really happy you guys took the time to review and read my stuff! Thanks!

And to everyone who has posted feedback, I really appreciate you guys seeing itworthwhile to review my story! Thank you EVERYONE!


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